d across
its top, a sheet of the fresh and very sticky fly paper. Before she
could have protested, even if she had wished to do so, the young
gentleman's spotless white flannels and the fly paper came in contact,
close and clinging contact.

Mary-'Gusta put a hand to her mouth. Crawford looked at her, caught the
direction of her look, and looked in that direction himself. His whistle
stopped in the middle of a note and his face immediately became a match
for his socks and tie, a beautiful rich crimson, the chosen color of his
University.

Miss Keith, from her seat by the door, could not see beyond the end of
the counter. Consequently she was unaware of the mishap to the white
flannels. But Mary-'Gusta saw and knew; also she could see that Mr.
Smith knew.

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Edna, impatiently. "We are dreadfully late now.
We'll never get there on time. Sam won't wait for us; I know he won't.
Where are those marshmallows? Can't you please hurry, Mary-'Gusta?"

Mary-'Gusta's eyes were sparkling. Her manner was provokingly
deliberate. She took a box of marshmallows from beneath the counter.

"There are some here," she said, "but I'm afraid they aren't very fresh.
The fresh ones, those that have just come, are in a box in the back
room. That box hasn't been opened yet. If you can wait I'll open it for
you."

Young Smith said nothing. Miss Keith, however, spoke her mind.

"Of course we can't wait," she declared. "I'm sure these will do. They
will do, won't they, Crawford?"

And still Crawford remained silent. Mary-'Gusta, who was enjoying this
portion of the interview as much as she had disliked its beginning,
offered a suggestion.

"If you will just come here and look at these," she said, with
mischievous gravity, addressing the young gentleman on the nail keg,
"perhaps you can tell whether they're fresh enough."

The young gentleman did not rise. His face retained its brilliant color
and his lips moved, but his answer was not audible. At his age the dread
of appearing ridiculous, especially in the presence of a youthful and
charming female, is above all others hateful. And Edna Keith was not the
only girl in the picnic party; there were others. She would be certain
to tell them. Crawford Smith foresaw a horrible day, a day of disgrace
and humiliation, one in which he was destined to furnish amusement
without sharing the fun. And Sam Keith, who had remarked upon the
splendor of his friend's attire, would gloa